Isabella Fangirl Swan
by TheHoboCouple
Summary: There's nothing scarier than passionate people talking about their passion. But what if your passion was fangirling and it was a job you didn't get paid for? A story about a fangirl, who finds that when she talks, there's someone who understands what she's speaking after all.
1. Preface

**A/N : This story was basically inspired by a part of my brain which constantly wondered about how Bella's life would've been as a fangirl, someone I'd relate to more than every other role she's portrayed in Twilight fanfiction. Why? Well, if you tell me you the idea of Bella staying up to catch livestreams and reblogging on Tumblr till the sun came up wasn't relatable or intriguing to you, a fellow Twilight fangirl, then you're just LYING. **

**Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. I'm just another fan who fangirled over her characters and now I'm going to make one of them fangirl for you.. ASKASHKJASJ HERE YOU GO :D **

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**Isabella Fangirl Swan**

**Preface**

You know when you're five and they ask you what you want to be when you grow up and you say things like "astronaut" and "president" or a "princess"? And when you're ten they ask you again and you say "rockstar", "cowboy" or "a gold medalist"? Yeah, you believe you can be all that. Your parents make you feel that way, tell you every day how special you are to them, you're their little "princess" or that their "big boy" is going to become the President of the United States one day. You grow up, planning to get a job, make good fortune. They make you _believe_ that. Candy floss and Easter bunnies are replaced with iPods and sneakers, and then you think, _maybe they were wrong._ Maybe our parents aren't as smart as we thought we were.

Well, at least that's how things worked in the past. I'm Isabella Marie Swan and I'm sixteen years old. My parents didn't tuck me in at night with Cinderella or Peter Pan. I was brought up in a very conservative environment, I wasn't allowed to play with boys after I turned ten and wasn't familiar with the joys of staying up.

Let me do that again. I'm Isabella Marie Swan and I'm sixteen years old. I can't talk to people like your average human being and I'm extremely, socially, awkward. I stay in on weekends not just because I'm not allowed to go out, but because after sixteen years of not knowing what freedom means, I've decided I don't care. I'm tired of playing the damsel when there's no actual distress, there's only so much time you can cry over how you're not granted the things in life your friends seem to take for granted, like having a friend over on weekends or going to the mall without your mom. After some time, you _accept_.

No you don't accept nothing good is happening to you, but you accept you're looking for the right things in all the wrong places. And maybe there's more to life than a best friend you text every day, you realize maybe that best friend doesn't even have to live in your own country. There's more to life than _school_ and social ladders.

I promise this is the last time I'm doing this, but yeah, I'm Isabella Marie Swan and I'm sixteen years old. I'm a twihard, tribute, potterhead and demigod. I'm a Whovian and I'm Sherlocked. I ship Destiel to pieces and ask people to get me a bucket for my "creys" only to have them give me a once over and question my sanity. I pull all-nighters to catch livestreams and have that sense of humor anyone who spends their life on Tumblr does. I know how to pronounce "gif" and spend my nights bawling over angsty Johnlock fanfiction. I have no social life, but I have 4,345 followers on Tumblr and 3,260 followers on Twitter. I have Narnian best friends from over the world who I can Kik at three in the morning. No, not because they'll be there for me, or maybe they will, but because of time zones, you know?

So blame me if you will, for putting my fandoms on the top of my priority list, over food, sleep, grades, social life, and lord forbid, human beings. I became a fangirl because reality became too drowning. And this is pretty much the biggest "fuck you" I can give my parents.

So maybe you and I have a different idea of revenge, and maybe some parents would consider themselves lucky if their daughter stayed up late encouraging her fangirl self to watch an entire season of American Horror Story. I mean, at least she wasn't out partying all night or doing pot with her boyfriend, right? Well, my parents don't get that, they don't see that. They're not _like _the parents from the 21st century. So a "fuck you", it is, when your daughter, the very one you forbade to read romantic novels, writes smut to pass time and draws cheesy fanart of the gay couples she ships.

The bummer here? That's my secret. My not-so-dirty little secret. I'm a fangirl. I know it, my fandom knows it, but nobody else does. I have friends I talk to everyday but don't question what I'm up to at home after the first ten times I said I couldn't go out with them. But because they would suspect and suspicion is a bad thing, I coerce my family into letting me go every now and then and concoct stories about birthday parties where my friends "cut cakes" to celebrate their birth. Yeah, right.

I'm the girl who doesn't say much at school, who people don't mind being around. No, I'm not an _outlaw_. Actually, I'm the opposite. I'm a part of the stereotypical "cool" clique, even though I don't know how I landed myself a permanent position there. I'd say it has to do with opposites attracting. My friends need my silence to balance out all the craziness they weave around them.

Like I said, maybe you wouldn't sum this up to someone being a _rebel_ even though I like to think I'm one. Let's just say, if you knew me, you'd say differently, very differently.

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**A/N : Yeah, that's short, as far as prefaces go, but that's all you had to know before starting to read! I know you're gonna ask me how the hell Bella could be a twihard, I'm working on my answer to that question, I promise! **


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N : Here's the first chapter! :D My story is unbeta'd so any mistakes whatsoever are all mine, apologies is advance. But I really think you should give this fangirl a try, or at least stick around to find out about her life. :)**

**Currently rated M for language. **

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**Isabella Fangirl Swan**

**Chapter 1 - Joggers By Chance and Neighbors... By Chance.**

I shut the door with a heavy sigh, waiting for that sense of relief to wash over me, but it never comes. Nothing, I felt nothing. I should be glad that I got through another day at hellhole without help from anyone, but I'm pretty positive my face resembled the hollow feeling I felt inside.

I dropped my bag next to the couch and walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of orange juice. I check the answering machine and there are three messages waiting for me. I listen to each and leave them be because one is from my aunt Kate informing us she's flying in from LA next month and the other two are from my dad's colleagues.

Glass in hand, I hop on the countertop and look down at my legs that barely touch the ground. My sneakers are undone. I push them off my feet and they land on the kitchen floor with a _thud_. Mom hates it when I wear shoes in the kitchen. But she stopped telling me so after the first ten times.

I get my mobile out and check Twitter for updates. More Catching Fire catching news, but it's not Finnick so I don't bother to read the post. Perez Hilton has new theories about the Robsten "breakup". I curse under my breath and accept begrudgingly even my fandoms cannot make me feel better. It was going to be one of _those_ days again.

My shoulders slouch on their own accord, I didn't want to face the truth but there was no denying it now. I was about to snap. So instead of scrolling through my timeline, I text Dana : _Why did you ditch today? _

I hit send and don't wait for a reply knowing she always leaves her mobile on silent mode. I missed her today, goddamn it. Sure, it's a normal thing to do, considering she's a close friend. But not so much when she's my last shred of hope to get through school, and definitely not so much when she's the only thing that makes dragging my ass out of bed in the morning, bearable. No, I've never told her this. I've never told any of our friends about this.

Was I depressed? No, not right now. Was I getting there? I don't fucking know. But I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't showing the symptoms. Yeah, I googled.

I'm surprised when my phone blows up with Dana's name.

D : _I think I had a bad case of the Bella Blues. Missed me? ;) _

B : _Bella Blues?! What the fuck is that? _

D : _Oh you know, when you ditch school because "you're not up for it". _

B : _Smartass. Why didn't you tell Jake? Poor guy looked glum all day long. _

D : _OH PLEASE_, _B, for the tenth time, I wish he didn't spend his existence making it up to me for almost killing me with his Volkswagen. Does he actually think he has a chance with me or? _

B : _Whatever. It was cute. You guys even locked gazes and stuff like in the movies. I WAS THERE SO DON'T EVEN TRY TO TELL ME DIFFERENT. :D_

D : _Ugh, do you even know how cheesy you're sounding right now? _

B : _WHAT? I'm a romantic, get over it._

D : _Whatever. I gotta run. See you at school tomorrow? _

B : _You still haven't told me the actual reason why you ditched. _

But that was it, I heard from her no more. It was only 3:27 and my mom wasn't home until six this evening. So I wondered what to do. I should probably eat since I hadn't had a morsel of food since breakfast. And I should probably write in my journal because I've been dying to ever since I got out of school but now that I was here, I didn't feel like it. Or I could sleep, since I had like two hours of sleep last night. Or start with my homework.

_Fuck this shit_, I decided._ I'm gonna burn some calories._

I went through the routine of showering after coming back from school. I felt the _need _to shower every time I came back from school. Constance would call it cleansing the air and ridding it of the unholy spirits I brought into the threshold of my home from school. Why? Because school tended to have that effect on me.

I changed into a pair of grey Capri and a white Joy Division t-shirt, pulling my hair into a ponytail. I thought of taking my iPod but the last two times I did that hadn't gone well. Music had the power to change my mood and I was a mess both times I'd come back from the park.

I checked Twitter for one last time and thanked this person who'd told me my new Tumblr url was "sexy". With that, I strapped on my jogging shoes and left home, hell bent on not thinking about today. But that was exactly what was going to happen, I liked to think _running_ would mean I was running away from my troubles, but that's the thing about troubles. They're like your shadow; they follow you everywhere you go.

* * *

The atmosphere at the Olympic Park is inviting, well, inviting to me. It's devoid of civilization, it always is. There are only a few evening joggers like me. There are a couple of kids surrounding the swings and their parents watching from under the huge apple tree that grows next to the play area. The sun is out today, a rare and welcome sight to everyone who hated the cold and the wet. But frankly? I don't hate the constant gloom that seemed to loom over Forks anymore, I greeted it like an old friend.

There's another park in the eastern part of Forks, and everyone prefers going there because it's bigger and has a lake, the same reasons I avoided it. I think I once fell into the water while trying to feed the ducks when I was seven and that's why I'd thrown a fit every time mom and dad tried to take me there. I don't remember exactly, my mind is a master at shutting out the bad memories.

I'm able to make it to two laps around the park before I have to catch my breath. _Well, damn. _I guess I'm more tired than I thought I was, I usually make it to five before I stop. As I hunch over, hands on my hip and panting with my mouth open, it comes back to me, everything from today I've been trying to run away from.

_Fuck. _I'm back on my feet and running in less than a minute, faintly out of breath, not caring too much about it. If I'd just stood there, I would have probably collapsed on the ground. So I run stopping for no man or mountain.

See, I have issues, issues I so greatly don't deal with. I preach like a saint, spend hours listening to people rant about their lives and help them see sense, but I scarcely put all that into practice. I'm hypocrisy, in flesh. I'm denial, on legs.

Blood pounds in my ears and I hear my heart beat itself into a frenzy and it's not because I've been running for the past 30 minutes. My legs are on auto-pilot. My head's a one-track city and I know only to go forward. My voice of reason chides me saying I should fucking _stop_ before I run myself unconscious.

But I don't because if I stop, I'll look back. If I stop, it'll come back to me.

My speculations are put on hold and my sense of vision fails me as I run into something, or rather someone in front of me and get knocked flat on the ass because of the impact.

_Fucking hell, that hurts! _I think as I try to hold my tears that have already made known their presence. Ugh, I hated this. I hate how I don't realize I'm crying until something like this happens. But that's one of the cons of jogging to run away from reality.

Possibly starry-eyed, from the blow or the tears, I'm not sure, I lift my head up and lock eyes with jade green.

"I'm so fucking sorry." We both say at the same time.

A moment passes as I take in the person in front of me, or whatever I can with him towering high above me and blocking the sun out. I catch a flurry of copper; and white, stark white, just like my shirt. I blink and he comes into focus, clearer this time.

"Why are you sorry?" We both say _again_. He cracks a smile which makes me realize he's a natural charmer, this one.

"Because I freakin ran into you?" I say, feeling pretty dumb already. My mind notices for me that he's wearing a white Joy Division t-shirt too. "Why are _you_ sorry?"

"I shouldn't have been standing in the middle like that, with so many people running and skateboarding." I looked around to see the influx of kids and joggers. It seemed like one-fourth of the Forks population had come out of hibernation. Huh. "I should've seen you coming."

"It's the sun, there's usually no one around." I reply as I try to bite my tongue to stop from screaming. Something about the position in which I'd landed on the ground made my back sting. I think he saw it on my face.

"You're hurt." He said, not even bothering to ask me about it.

"I'm fine," I lied trying to get up quickly to prove my point, only to have my hands buckle and fall down on my ass. Again. "Fuck," I hissed inaudibly.

"That's what I thought."

When I'm one second away from having a panic attack about how to get home, he kneels down in front of me so we're eye-to-eye.

"Why don't you take it easy for a minute?" I like his voice. There's nothing I can compare it to, but I like it. It stops me from thrashing out and cussing more.

I stretch my legs and sit up straight without using the support of my hands, those bitches hurt.

"Where does it hurt?" He asks as he looks directly into my eyes. I drop my eyes because his stare is too intense, whether he meant it or not.

I wanted to say, fucking everywhere, but I say, "I'm not sure."

We inspect for injuries together and I try flexing my hands and wince. My legs seemed to have survived but my ankles burn like they're bruised. But it's my back that's giving me hell.

"Can you stand up?" A moment of emotion overload passes by me as I contemplate answering that question. I realize the tears have spilled over and I feel extremely small. And utterly, utterly embarrassed. _Fuck. Was I crying the whole time he talked? _

"Does it look like I can?" I throw at his face, suddenly maddened by the fact that this day seemed to worsen with every breath that I took.

He held up his hands defensively and said, "Look, I told you I'm sorry." He held out his hand. "Let me help you up."

I didn't want to take it, but I didn't have a lot of options. He pulled me up and steadied me as I wobbled. The trees around me blurred for one full second and my head started to feel _very_ light.

He held me up by the shoulders and looked scared. "Are you going to faint on me? 'Cause then I'm gonna have to carry you but you obviously come here a lot and I'm new, so if someone saw me carrying you out of here, they might think I'm kidnapping you or something and call the fucking cops on me and I don't want the cops to know my name on my first fucking day at Forks."

I tried to hide the smile that was forming on my lips and stared at him. "You're new?"

He sighed like he was so glad I could talk, his relief was written all over his face. "Just moved in. From Jacksonville."

"Jacksonville? Really?" I wonder aloud. "I actually grew up there, until I was five."

"Yeah? Why'd you leave?" He released me from his grip as if he only just realized how close we were standing.

I looked at him, _really_ looked at him for the first time and noticed his unkempt copper hair as the wind played on it and our matching shirts and how he was well over a foot taller than me. "Do you seriously expect me to answer that question? I don't even know you."

He raised an eyebrow. I took one step forward and discovered I could infact _walk_, but I couldn't mask my limp up. Who am I kidding, I was practically dragging my feet across the ground.

"You're not even gonna thank me?" He kept up with me effortlessly, with my limp and all.

"Thank you." I said and meant it. He nods in return and walks beside me, his long strides accompanying my pathetic limps. My eyes stay on the ground. It hurts everywhere.

I hear him sigh twice and I think it's because he doesn't want to keep up with my pace, but then he says, "Alright, _stop._ You can't walk."

I bring my limping march to a halt and turn to face him sideways. "What's your deal?"

"What's my deal?" His voice echoes the question I just asked him. "Yeah. I knocked into you. You apologized and helped me up. I thanked you for it. Why can't we leave it at that?"

"You want me to leave you alone, like _that_?" He points to my legs. "I'm fucking fine," my tone defies him and I start trudging my feet forward. Of course he fucking keeps up with me, of course.

"Okay, miss Mood Swings, let me tell you _why _I can't leave you alone. First, you're hurt and you can't _walk home_ like that. And second, I'll have recurring nightmares about how I let you get away with that leg and never knew if you made it home."

I stopped in my tracks. "Hold the fuck up, who said anything about taking me home?"

"I did, obviously. You walked here from home, didn't you?" I don't answer him. "That's what I thought." He says for the second time today.

"And you didn't?"

"Nope." He says popping the 'p'. "I drove here."

I was missing something, definitely missing something. Fuck him for putting me out of my element at the park I've visited since I was in pigtails. But then it made sense.

"Are you asking me to get into your car and ride with you to _my_ house? Dude, you're fucking insane."

Oh god, no. No, no, _no_. I am _not_ getting into his car. I don't even know his fucking name. He could be a serial killer or a pedo. This basically goes against every single rule in the book my parents taught me from. What would Dad do if he saw be being driven around some guy he didn't know? He'd shoot him.

"Why the hell not? I promise I'm not a serial killer or anything. I don't spend my nights plotting murders or how to lure young girls. Heck, I'm just a student, like you probably are." He finishes but not before adding, "And my name's Edward, by the way, Edward Cullen."

Breath leaves me in an audible gasp and I back away from him putting a distance of a good five feet between us. _What the actual fuck did he just say?_

"What?" He asks taken aback, even though if anyone should be baffled, it should be me.

"Do you read minds?" A second passes as he realizes he answered what were probably my unspoken questions and the jade in his eyes turn into liquid laughter as he cackles out loud.

"Yeah, now and then." He smirks at me and I just stare at him, plain fucking stare.

"Are you gonna give me your name or do you have more theories about who I might be?"

I shake my head in disbelief. Yeah, I was fucking going over them one by one. But I don't voice them out. Instead I find myself saying, "Bella."

"Bella?"

"Yeah, Bella Swan." He smiles and I can't decide what's brighter, the fading sun or his smile against it.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" I feel the urge to swipe that smirk off his face. It made me feel like he had one too many inside jokes about me.

"You don't want me to answer that," I mutter and sit down on one of the park benches. I try leaning on it, but my back still stings like a tracker jacker bite so I scoot away and perch myself on the armrest. That hurts too so I give up on it and stand back up.

He watches me with calculating eyes and I can somehow say he's wondering how the car ride is going to work out. That is, if I say yes.

"Let me take you home. Please? I feel like an idiot for standing in your way back there. Look where it got you."

I think about my original purpose of this jog and I think about the oh-so-bad day I had at school. I think about how I wanted to just get home and simply crash. I remember the warmth of my comforter and the safe haven that is my bed and sleep. Suddenly, I _want_ him to take me home.

"You _promise_ you're not psychotic?" I ask one last time.

He grins at me and says, "Yes. I _promise _I'm not psychotic."

* * *

The insides of his car smells like peppermint and musky cologne. It's a damn silver Volvo too. As if I wasn't already impressed, the upholstery had to be in jet black leather and the windows had to be tinted black. His car pretty much reminded me of abandoned alleys and silhouetted men and the mysterious aura spewed out as soon as he helped me get in and buckle up. I couldn't imagine him behind the wheel, but that was only until he took the driver's seat. This guy was born to fucking drive this car. It suited him, the whole black and silver theme.

I controlled my thoughts as soon as vampires, one in particular, Damon Salvatore, filled my head. I wasn't going _there_.

"So, Bella," he said as he put the key into the ignition and I briefly notice the way his tongue rolled over my name. "Where do you live?"

I gave him directions home as Ellie Goulding filled the air. He looked at me queerly when I gave him my address and I asked him what that was about. He simply shook his head so I decided, _whatever_.

I would've killed for some shut eye but I was breaking some rules just by being in his car, so I fought to stay awake. The long day was catching up to me.

"You like her?" he asks out of the blue and I look at him like _what're you talking about?_

"Ellie," he says and I realize somewhere in the middle of Mission Wide Awake, my lips have started to sing along.

"No," I say as parks in front of my flat. "I _love_ her." I earn a grin and an "I love her too" from him. I check the clock on his dash and it reads 5:53.

He gets out of the car and opens my door and I comment, "Nice. Are you trying to be a gentleman? It's working." He smirks at me as he closes the door. We're face to face and I wonder if I should thank him for the ride home.

"So this is where you live, huh?" He asks looking up at the skyscraper-ish gated community I lived in.

"Yeah. I hate having so many neighbors, I mean, I run into a new one every single day but my mom fancies flats over independent houses, so yeah.." Shit, I'm rambling. I ramble whenever I stay up too late or go without sleep for too long. Like now.

"Okay, let's get you inside." I fret instantly. Getting me home was one thing, but I don't know if I'm entirely too comfortable with him knowing exactly which door I lived behind.

"It's not necessary, really. I'm fine. You should go." He sighs heavily and I expect him to lecture me again about how he's just an ordinary civilian. And I'm right, because he scoffs and says, "_Bella_. You can't too far without help and I already promised you I don't fit the description of anyone from your imagination."

I think he's persuasive but he honestly hasn't given me any reason to think his intentions pointed at anything other than concern. No one was home anyway. I figured it wasn't that big of a deal.

"Am I being persuasive?" He answers yet again a question that ran through my mind. I wonder if he was kidding or if he can actually read minds. He can't. Can he? "I'll honestly just sleep better knowing I got you home safe."

"Fine, Edward, _fine_." I say as I hobble my way through the gates and the stone path that leads into the residential area. He lets me lead the way but stays close behind holding me up if I miss a step and fall and giving me his hand to hop my way up a couple of steps. I grudgingly accept he's right, I couldn't have made it home without help.

As we walk past the front office the security guard Emmett smiles at us. He takes in my hopping form and asks, "Try to walk and chew gum at the same time, Bella?"

I grin and say, "Ran into this big guy, Em," pointing at Edward. He nods at Edward but I don't give much thought to it because I'm tired to the bones.

I lived on the ground floor, so there was no need to take the elevator. However, it did involve walking through never-ending corridors of doom after another to get to my door. My mom knew what living in a gated community entailed. I didn't.

_Here we go.. 218.. 219.. 220.. _and.. "Home sweet home," I announce as I stand in front of my door, number 221. I turn to him and say, "You need to close your eyes so I can get the key out." I feel silly doing so but he complies.

Once I get the key, I tell him it's safe to look. He notices the little addition I made last year to my door number. "221 B?" He asks quizzically as I stick the key into the keyhole.

"Yeah, like Block B, door number 221, my mom insisted on adding the B for identification purpose or whatever," I lie smoothly, having told the same thing to anyone who ever wondered about it. I fiddle with the lock. No amount of practice will ever help me open the door in one try.

"And you're one hundred percent positive it has _nothing_ to do with Baker Street?"

My hand freezes on the key and I leave it be as I turn my back to the door and stare at him. Surreal, it feels surreal, that this guy I met two hours ago is in front of my door quizzing me about my door number.

"You're my new best friend." I blurt out and warmth colors my cheek as I realize I _thought_ the words aloud. His eyebrows scrunch together and mirth lights up his eyes. "What?" He asks, emphasizing the single word.

I shake my head as an attempt to think coherently and explain. "Dude, you're like the first fucking person to understand the Sherlock reference!" Suddenly, I'm a capsule of energy and I want to know more about him.

He chuckles and I can practically _feel_ his gladness vibrating in the air around me. "It's an honor." He mock salutes and we grin at each other.

A moment that feels like eternity passes and I'm the first one to look down still smiling and shaking my head once again. I lean against the door and say mostly myself, "I can't believe you just got that."

I say a little more aloud, "You can't imagine how annoying it was when I tried explaining it to people and they acted like I did _not_ just tell them I named my house after the very same one Holmes lived in. Like what the fuck? It has so much of significance, man."

"Watson too," He adds. "Are you Sherlocked?"

Holy motherfudging _shit_. Someone in real life just asked me if I was fucking _Sherlocked_! This is going on Tumblr, this is _most definitely_ going on Tumblr.

"Are you real?" I find myself asking and I don't care anymore I'm thinking out loud in front of him. This guy just asked me if I was Sherlocked. He can move into my house and throw my stuff out and I wouldn't think twice about it.

He definitely thinks my thinking aloud is entertaining because I earn another chuckle from him.

"_You bet I am_." I shriek-squeal as I try to reign in the fangirl in me. Her day's just been made and she's freaking out. I'm freaking out.

I find myself telling the words I never thought I'd tell a guy, like fucking _ever_. "We should hang out sometime."

"Does this mean you no longer think I'm psychotic? I've passed all your tests?" I laugh. I fucking laugh. And I feel the sound reverberate through my heart. Fuck, how long has it been since I so much as _laughed_?

"Yep, you passed them," I say and turn to go back to the key. I try again and it clicks open. I twist the knob and the door is soon ajar. But I don't go in, not yet. With the door behind me, I realize I never thanked him properly.

"Thank you for bringing me home, you needn't have, but you did. And.. I appreciate it." I say and hope my voice conveyed exactly how much it meant to me. He nods like he understands what I'm saying.

"It was no problem. And it was the least I could do, especially after breaking your back. I'm sorry about that," he says even though I mentioned nothing about my back, not once. He's observant, goddamn it.

"It's not broken." I shrug and add, "Hopefully." And just like that it seems like the spell has been broken and I'm not sure what to say next. Like when I'm out of things to contribute to a conversation and I just look away feeling weird.

_No_, I tell myself. _This will not be one of those socially awkward situations I weasel my way out of. That will not be how I treat the first person in my life who understood my Sherlock reference._

So I find myself answering one of his questions from earlier I refused to acknowledge. "My mom remarried."

His eyes swim with confusion as he wonders what the fuck I'm talking about. _I_ wonder what the fuck I'm talking about.

"Why I left Jacksonville? My mom remarried. So she sent me here to live with my dad. And my stepmom."

It dawns on him I'm talking about earlier when I said I wouldn't tell him why I left Jacksonville and I wonder briefly how the fuck the conversation went from fandom talks to revelations about my personal life.

He looks directly into my eyes as he says, "That blows." I simply nod. I think I regret unloading that piece of detail on him like that. What if he bolts?

We both realize there's nothing more to be said so I decide to say goodbye but he beats me to it.

"I should probably head back, but hey before that, I wanted to ask, how many neighbors do you have in this place? It seems like half the Forks population is in here."

I laugh as I answer, "Well, I don't know, a lot, I guess? Like a _lot-lot_. There are so many I haven't even met and I get surprised every time I see a new face. I don't ever stop seeing a new one."

He seemed nonchalant enough when he asked, "Yeah? How often?"

"Depends. I ran into one just last week."

"Do you like them?"

"Who? My neighbors?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know, I mean I don't talk to them." I say but then correct my sentence. "I don't _try _to talk to them. I stay away from them."

He looks like he's about to comment on that but he says, "Never mind about them, what's your take on me?"

"What's my take on you?" I answer his question with a question of my own.

"Yeah, I mean, you just spent the last two hours with me. If you didn't think I was psychotic, you should've thought something else about me?" He hedges.

"I think.." I start and stall wondering what I thought about him. He knocked me flat on my ass, saw me cry, helped me get home, understood the significance of my door number and made me laugh in front of my own house, all under two hours. I like him, I decide. "You seem like a pretty decent person, someone who wouldn't take off if he, say, ran a vehicle over. As far as first impressions go, I think you're a nice guy."

"That you ran into today." He finishes for me.

I nod and he stares at me like he's waiting for me to react. It's like the whole world stops and stares for a while as I wonder what the fuck is happening.

My mind chooses this moment to pull from my memory bank an image I didn't pay enough attention to in my sleepy state. Emmett grinned and nodded at me when I walked past him. But it didn't seem like that nod was meant just for me. He looked like he was _greeting_ Edward.

"Emmett knew you?" I say feeling dumb yet again. Wait, how can that be possible? Emmett couldn't know Edward. Edward doesn't-

I think he sees the cog wheels turn in my head because he smiles triumphantly. It's like the stars are trying to arrange themselves in perfect alignment and the universe is looking for a missing piece from its puzzle. I'm almost there..

It clicks. It fucking clicks and I wonder how I don't hear it clicking! All the questions he just asked me. It made sense, all of a sudden. It's like a vampire waking up with vampire vision and looking at everything and noticing things their human eyes didn't see. It's like I fucking gained a new perspective to look at things because just then my eyes go wide and eyebrows shoot up as I look at him for some kind of a confirmation.

He grins like he knows the power of a thousand watts bulb and my jaw drops. I got my confirmation, alright.

"_No. No fucking way._" I say in open disbelief.

"Bye, Bella." He says, never losing that grin as he backs away.

I don't let him go two feet away before screeching, "_You live here?!_"

He chortles, he fucking chortles out loud, the sound ricocheting off the walls and for a few seconds, it's the only sounds my ears register.

I trace things back to when he looked at me curiously when I gave him my address. _Fucking hell_!

"_We're NEIGHBORS?!"_ I screech at his retreating form and he turns around, still walking backwards but smirking now, and says, "Well, technically I live on the 17th floor, but yeah, I guess we are."

The urge to swipe his smirk off is back and acute. _Fudging son of a biscuit_.

He reaches the end of the corridor where the passage demarcates into four more corridors. He stops and brings his hand up _to fucking wave at me_. "I'll see you around.. neighbor." He gives me one last full-blown lopsided grin before he fucking vanishes.

What the fuck just happened?

* * *

**A/N : Constance, as in, Constance from American Horror Story, and NO, not Sister Jude! ;) And tracker jackers are from THG, they're genetically-altered wasps whose their bites cause hallucinations. **

**And 221B? I had to. I'm Sherlocked like Bella, I just never tell anyone I am. And I TOTALLY wanna live behind door 221B. Sigh.**

**I'm working on Bella's personality outline. Fangirls usually DO keep to themselves and put ten feet distance between them and civilization all the time, sooo. **

**Thoughts? Remarks? Let me know! :) **


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